


Three Voices and Eternal Punishment

by algol_ardhanari



Series: Nihil [1]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26691829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/algol_ardhanari/pseuds/algol_ardhanari
Summary: A prequel to a bigger project that will involve several stories or paths branching off from the same point, and rejoining at the end.
Series: Nihil [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153550
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

2015.

The gentle hum of the car engine comes to a stop as we reach our destination. A hybrid, because it’s cheaper in the long run and because I could afford it. I lean back on my seat, sighing and patting my white fur against my skin, before checking my beard and the quality of my ponytail in the rearview mirror. Not terribly often that people see white lions with their manes and facial hair dyed black around these parts, and if I want to make a good impression, I should try to look as good as possible.

“Hey, you look fine, dude.” A glossy hand absentmindedly waves at me from the passenger seat, though its occupant is obviously not terribly worried about me. The red salamander’s eyes are very obviously trained forwards, eagerly staring at our destination. Odd, since he’s the one that brought me here, and he did it because he’s a regular and loves it here.

“You would know.” My quip falls on deaf ears. “Do you really drive all the way out here every weekend?”

“Yeah, bro!” I cringe a little at being called that. “It’s always fun to be here and there’s like, different themes every week!”

Of course, since I was coming, Brett preferred to go in my car and have me drive him. Comfier than his own car, he says. I can’t really say he’s wrong, to be honest. I lazily glance at the nightclub in front of us, the vertical slits on my yellow eyes narrowing as I focus on the illumination outside… it’s basically an island of light in the middle of the darkness of this sleepy town. Closer to Gran Sudbury than our own little town, and more urbanized, but still ultimately a satellite town to a larger city.

“Yeah. You said the theme this week was Latino music, right?” I sigh a little, somewhat expecting what that could entail, considering I _am_ from a Latin American country.

“Yep! That’s why I thought to bring you here! Maybe you’ll be able to teach me a few dance moves, huh?” The salamander checks out his eyes on the side mirror in the darkness of the car, but I’m not sure what he’s even checking for. They’re just dots of hazel darkness upon his red, spotty skin. Pretty cute. Not a whole lot to improve on that front.

I groan, sinking into my seat, my wide frame filling out the backrest. “I guess all Latinos, on a base level, know how to dance better than Canadians, even if I don’t _really_ look the part of a Latino, I guess. If… my suspicions are correct, I’ve danced the music we’re about to hear back home. So, like, maybe I could teach you a thing or two.” Some patrons enter the establishment. “Doesn’t mean I’m really gonna vibe with the music, you know? It’s just never been my environment. But, uh, thanks for the invite anyways.” I gently pat his knee a couple of times to indicate I’m not really annoyed at the proposal. Couple of times, and brief, because I don’t want to make it seem like I’m coming onto him. He knows I’m gay but doesn’t swing that way, even if I’d like to hook up if he proposed. Maybe all thoughts spent on this matter are wasted.

“Aw, c’mon, I bet you’ll do it great! And I’m here to guide you through the nightclub scene. You’ve got nothing to worry about, yeah?”

I sigh. His cheer is infectious. It doesn’t really work on me, but I went along with the plan, so I might as well act like it does. I feel his gaze lingers for a split second longer than normal on the hand I have on his knee, so I retrieve it. “Yeah.” I shoot him a weak half-smile. I unlock the doors and—

“Oh, you should probably leave that coat you’re wearing in the car. It gets real hot and steamy in there and there’s nowhere to put your stuff in inside.” As he spoke, he was already taking his own jacket off, revealing a graphic t-shirt underneath. Wearing that, grey pants, and sneakers, he looked… like a slob. That, or one of those “straight bros” you see in gay porn all the time.

I remove my much heavier black coat, gingerly putting it on the backseat, stretched out, and stretch out the black tank top it’s wearing underneath. The fabric is taught against my muscled torso. Maybe I should buy a few bigger ones next time. This sort of look is good if you’re trying to look sexy, less so if you just want to leave the house and pretend you’re a well-adjusted member of society for a bit. Wordlessly, I step out of the car, and the cold bite of the Ontario night air creeps under my fur and sends a chill down my spine. No matter how thick the coat gets around the chest and other areas, it still does precious little to protect me if I’m used to warmer weather than this. If I stay out too long, my nipples are going to poke a hole through the tank top.

Immediately, my thoughts go to my literally cold-blooded companion, but he doesn’t seem to mind, if his cheerful attitude even as he steps out into the cold night air is any indication. I lock the car and pocket the keys, knowing I’m probably not using the car for the rest of the night, if Brett’s plan is to be followed. We’ll party all night, then crash at some random motel for the night. Simple enough. I just hope I can follow it.

We make quite an odd pairing, standing right next to each other – him a chipper red salamander covered in slim, taut muscle, wearing incredibly casual clothing, and me, standing easily a whole head taller than him, my white lion fur dyed black around the head and beard and other parts of my body, a solid slab of muscle cutting a pale silhouette against the night, dressed in a black tank top, blue jeans, and black combat boots. I push my glasses up as the realization hits me that we’ve never really gone out by ourselves – just the two of us – and it probably looks ridiculous to everyone else. He looks like he came out of a comedy movie, I look like I walked straight out of a survival horror game. Ridiculous.

“We going in?” He looks up at me.

My whiskers twitch for a second before I push the concern off my mind. “Yeah. We’re not gonna stand out here all night, at least.”

He chuckles and punches me on the shoulder – a jab I hardly register – before we both walk towards the establishment. Neither of us gets ID’d, though for a split second I get the feeling he will have a few questions asked, because of how young he looks. Me, I have looked legal since age 16, and now that I’m a mountain of muscle, nobody asks any questions. If only this benefit was useful to me more often.

We descend a flight of stairs and are met with a nearly empty dance floor, some tables on the sides, and a bar with the pair of patrons I saw entering the business a few minutes earlier. Shouldn’t surprise me, since it’s just 8 PM, and Brett told me it doesn’t really start filling out and getting lively until about an hour from now. We have some time to get used to the environment – how it is a tad warmer than the outside, how dark it is and only lit by a few colorful neon lights, how there’s a lot less oxygen than the outside and how I swear I can smell some cigarette smoke even though I don’t see anyone smoking.

Brett seems to like it all. Good for him. I should probably try and get used to it, since he seemed to really want to bring me here. Maybe putting some stuff in my body will help, so I head to the bar and order something simple – a rum with cola. A Free Cuba, it’s called in my country, but I don’t think the name is used up here. The drink doesn’t take long to come, and the tall glass only has some ice in it, most of the contents being rum, cola, and garnished with a wedge of lime. Strange. Very good cocktails for such an out-of-the-way establishment, maybe. It goes down easily, as well – maybe at some point in the past I’d have difficulty downing alcohol, but now I don’t mind the feeling.

Brett swings up to me and sits in the chair by mine. He regards me with a curious gaze as he looks at the glass in my hand. “What?”

“That isn’t just coke, right?”

I wordlessly offer him the glass, and he takes a sip after a second. “Does it taste like just coke?”

He grimaces slightly as he downs the sip. “Yep, booze. Didn’t think you drank.”

I pause for a few seconds. “Usually not in public, no. I prefer to do it in private, behind closed doors.”

“Because you can take your clothes off when you’re inside someone’s apartment and get it on with them?” He smirks.

I sigh. “I know that I’m the slut of the group, but that’s not the reason why.” A pause. “Though I guess my habits and how many guys I’ve brought to my house says otherwise…”

He nudges me with his elbow. “I don’t think anyone here would mind if you began taking your clothes off and getting it on with someone, big guy. It’s gay-friendly and all.”

I look at Brett for a few seconds, expression flat. “Weren’t you straight?”

He chuckles. “What, can’t a guy be supportive of his gay friends?”

I arch an eyebrow. “Straight allies usually don’t goad men into taking off their clothes and fucking in public, you know.” Another sip of my drink.

“Well, if it’s what makes you happy, I won’t stand in the way of your slutty activities!”

My eyes narrow. “If it wasn’t because I’m in the group and people know what I’m like, you’d be the group slut, you know. How many girlfriends have you had this year alone?”

Brett grimaces and, for a split second, I feel bad, until I remind myself that I’m doing nothing that he isn’t doing to me. “Hey, I sought something deeper with all of those…”

“Deeper how? You wanted to reach their uteruses or something? Give them a cock endoscopy? You’ve never told me how big your dick is but something tells me you’re packing.”

He erupts into laughter at the deadpan delivery of the comment. “Oh, man, I need to hang out with you more often. You’re hilarious.”

I bite my tongue and try not to state that I’m there for most of our group’s plans. I just don’t really talk a lot, melt into the background, only make snarky comments every now and then, and sometimes leave if I get bored. Probably not the healthiest social dynamic out there. “Probably, yeah.” I just take another sip of my drink. “Question, though.”

“Yeah?” He shifted in his seat to look at me.

“Doesn’t your tail hurt? How are you leaning so far back on that thing?”

He blinks a few times.

“I mean.” I swing my tail forward, the slender appendage wrapping around my waist, the tasseled tip idly and slowly swinging back and forth. White tail, black tip. Dyed. Mostly. “My tail is only a fraction of my total body mass and it’s so prehensile I can basically do anything I want with it. Meanwhile, looking at yours, it looks so… thick and muscular, like it’s actually heavy. I’ve never experienced having a tail like that, for obvious reasons. Don’t you need to sit different to not crush it or something?”

He chuckles. “Not really? Like you said, it’s really strong so I don’t have to worry about damaging it by sitting on it wrong or something.” He swings his tail onto his lap. It’s much thicker than mine, and looks a bit harder to control as well. Glossy, red and with black spots like the rest of his body. “It’s not something I’ve really given any thought to, you know? You’ve put some weird ideas in my head now.” A jab with the elbow. “Good to know you think a lot about my backside, though.”

I just take a sip of my drink, letting my tail down. “All healthy young men experience thoughts about their male friends’ backsides, no? Besides, if you ever want to experiment what it’s like being with a man, you know where to find me.” I take another sip, letting the offer hang in the air, leaving him to wonder if it was serious or not. “I’ll try not to crush you. Too much.” A sneer through half-lidded eyes, and flashing him my fangs.

He laughs. “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind, buddy.” It’s unclear whether he thought the proposal was a joke, or whether he thought it was serious and was trying not to think too hard about it. I’m not sure if it was entirely serious, myself. Either outcome would benefit me.

We spend a few more minutes idly talking, which makes me realize we really don’t talk about a whole lot usually, because we keep finding new topics to cover. More people enter the club and the low hum of music slowly rises in volume… yep, unmistakable beats from my country. Feels like home in the worst ways possible, but I can’t help moving my hips and bobbing my head a little. Maybe reggaeton isn’t that bad. Already on my second cup of rum with cola, I’m feeling a bit tipsy, and the conversation with Brett died, as I look at the few couples dancing on the stage while he does… something on the bar. Being here starts to feel good.

I get up, downing the rest of my cup and asking for another cup, and I catch Brett as he puts a tab of _something_ on his tongue. My breathing stops as I process what I’m seeing. He turns to look at me, tongue still stuck out and the unmistakable small blue paper square on his long red tongue soaking up his spit, before he puts his tongue back in his mouth. “What?”

“I… didn’t think you did harder stuff.” Suddenly, the world feels a bit clearer, as a flash of concern runs through my mind.

“Oh, c’mon, everyone in the nightclub scene does this sort of stuff. Besides, LSD isn’t all that bad, and it doesn’t even generate addiction! Maybe I’ll give you some some other time.”

I can’t say it’s a terribly enticing proposal. “You, uh, want me to teach you how to dance to this now?” A really old song is playing. I remember hearing it when I was a child.

“Oh, yeah!” He’s still talking a bit weird because the tab hasn’t dissolved on his tongue yet, but he jumps to his feet anyways. Not knowing what to do, I down the third glass of rum with cola in one long gulp. Maybe an impressive feat, but all I think at that moment is that I’ll really have to piss in a bit.

We get to the middle of the dance floor, where there’s a few couples already dancing – men, women, men with other men, women with other women, and a few people I can’t really identify. He was right, it’s fairly progressive. Strange, considering the area. Explaining how this stuff is danced isn’t the most difficult feat in the world, because dancing reggaeton is largely just knowing how to move your hips in three beats, and almost all the songs sound the same. He gets it down. For the most part. He’s still as stiff as you’d expect someone from this part of the world to be, but he’s learning.

He seems to try and dance on girls present, and most of them give in and dance with him a bit, before inevitably going to dance with other guys (or girls) present after him. He doesn’t seem to mind, just enjoying the situation.

I slowly stop moving my hips. The whole thing seems incredibly banal and ultimately unenjoyable. I start to wonder if I should have come in the first place. It feels like the three cocktail glasses I drank are finally hitting me in fully, and I feel a bit dizzy. I close my eyes, trying to take a deep breath through all the sweat and human warmth…

…I feel a pair of warm, smooth hands on my hips. As I open my eyes, Brett is standing in front of me, eyes half-lidded, dancing on me. I blink a couple of times. “I’m not a girl, Brett.”

“I know, big boy.”

Something twitches in my pants in response, and I take an uneasy gulp. “Are… are you alright?” He’s definitely not acting like himself at that moment.

“Yeah, dude, just relax a bit.” He draws closer, and I feel the warmth of his body against mine. Though I’m sweating, he doesn’t seem to mind, and the proximity gets me sweating harder. Maybe the alcohol running through my system is hitting different as well.

Maybe the lowered inhibitions are a mistake, but I push his hands a bit further up, on my shoulders, and I put my hands on his hips, pulling him tight until there’s no space between our bodies. Suddenly, the feel of his smaller frame against mine is enticing, and driving me insane. The warmth, the breath against my fur, and he seems to like it as well. We fall into a rhythm with the beat of the music, only focusing on each other’s presence…

Before I know it, he locks lips with me, and his long reptilian tongue probes my mouth. I probably taste like alcohol, but he seems to like it. I return the kiss in earnest – I’m not sure what has gotten over him, or over me, but I like the sensations, and if the stirring stiffness in his groin is any indication, he likes it as well. His hands travel down and slowly lift my tank top, exposing my muscled chest, which he gropes and pushes, face still against mine. Cheekily, my hand travels down to his groin, under his underwear – he wears briefs, and I was right, he is packing, if the wet appendage emerging from a slit against my hand is any indication. I give him a couple of strokes and feel him tremble…

He breaks the kiss, softly moaning in my ears as the beat of the music turns heavier. I didn’t know he was so sensitive, or into me. I’ll make sure to bear that in mind. He turns his lips to my ear, gently nibbling my earlobe, and speaks…

**“May the night consume you.”**

I blink. As I turn to look at his face, I realize his skin has gone grey and where his eyes used to sit are holes of gaping darkness, like the whole eyeball – sclera and all – turned pitch black and stopped reflecting light. My eyes go wide at the sight and I stumble backwards, stumbling to the ground.

The figure slowly turns to me, and even though it doesn’t seem to have eyes, I feel its gaze on me. None of the other patrons seem to notice its presence – or, if they notice, they don’t care, but we’re conspicuously… alone. The dance floor around us is empty, like everyone is interested in staying away from this spot in particular. Even though we’re in the middle of a crowd, I feel alone.

It takes a step forward. **“Is this not what you wanted?** ” Its lips hardly move, but its voice comes out clear, even above the… unreasonably low bass of the music. Even the music sounds wrong. **“You wished to be consumed and enveloped. I am merely granting that desire.”** I don’t even know what I’m looking at, but its voice comes directly into my brain, uninterrupted. Where is Brett? Did he turn into this thing? What is happening?

Even though I try to stagger backwards more, to get away from this thing, it’s like my arms are taking no orders. As the figure takes a step forward, hands from the crowd approach from behind it, groping its body and caressing every inch of its surface. I don’t know how to feel about it, because largely, it still looks like Brett. As they begin taking its clothes off and begin more vigorously touching it, I can’t not think that it’s Brett’s body I’m looking at here. As some of the shadowy men force the figure to turn its head to a side and force their tongues inside its mouth, I think that it was the same set of lips I was kissing a few moments earlier.

I was kissing him, right? Did that happen? Was that the _real_ Brett? When did he change for this thing? Was it even him all along?

Even as its body gets ravaged by the public – even as its behind is spread open, and its stiff cock is stroked and sucked by unidentifiable, shadowy beings, its eyes keep trained on me at all times. It doesn’t respond to the stimulation. It simply takes all the attention, and never reacts to it. Before my very eyes, it shifts – its frame grows, it grows white fur… and it becomes me. A me with completely white fur – one that never dyed parts of it black for the aesthetic. One of its hands stretches forward, far too much for what the length of my arms should be, and it… grabs onto me. It feels less like it’s touching my skin, and more like the hand phased clean through my chest and grabbed my spine directly, moving my center of mass with ease. My face is brought near its own visage, and I peer into the absolute nothingness inside its skull. I don’t know how to react.

**“Did you not long for the touch of the crowds? For the attention?”**

I don’t know what to say. Even if I did, it feels like there’s something caught in my throat, keeping me from talking.

**“I am but a mirror of your ultimate desires. A shadow cast upon the land, born of the rotten soil, fed by your emotion.”**

It feels like claws and fangs sink into my flesh, but I can’t react. Turning my eyes to the right, the thing’s head has bitten into my shoulder… but it’s still in front of me as well, somehow. It makes no sense, like a nightmare.

**“I am the end, born of the people. The specter, a consequence of their temptations, desires and negativity, the extant passion.”**

Its face draws closer to mine. I can smell its breath. I can’t describe what it smells like – dust, the sweetness of rotting flesh, but overwhelmingly like what I can only describe as static. Nothingness.

**“Now, may the night consume you, Joshua.”**

Our lips lock in a kiss, and my tongue grows numb. Though I don’t see its face growing to engulf mine, and though I don’t feel myself sliding into its body, I somehow know it’s happening anyways. As darkness surrounds me, my senses disappear, but I can feel my flesh being torn to shreds regardless. I don’t react. Something worms its way into the place my mind is and erases me. I don’t react. I cease to be entirely.

And maybe the thing was right. Maybe it _was_ something I wanted.

…

I’m woken up by the bite of the cold night wind against my face, followed shortly by the sensation of pavement against my cheek and a hand slowly running circles on my back. My head throbs and I clench my eyelids before opening. The world comes into view… the night sky, and the street outside of the bar we were just at. We were at a bar, right?

“Dammit, are you with me, Josh?” A voice forms in the distance, next to me. I crane my neck to face the source – Brett looking down at me, concern plain on his face.

I slowly sit up, realizing my tank top is above my chest, and pull it down. “…yeah. I just…” It’s then that I realize I don’t actually know what happened. “What happened?” Though my head felt heavy, I didn’t feel anything terribly wrong.

“I don’t know, man, I was just dancing with someone and when I turned you were just passed out cold on the ground. You sure you feel alright?”

I ponder the question for a few seconds. “…yeah?” I slowly try to get up… and lean against the wall, feeling weak. I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling lucky that my glasses are still with me. I still feel the weight of my phone and my car keys on my pockets as well.

“I think someone tried to roofie you. Should have been paying more attention. I’m really sorry. Must have been this guy at the bar, he was really eyeing you hard… maybe he put something in your drink.”

I remember no such thing.

I take out my phone and check the time. It’s only slightly past midnight. Somehow, I don’t feel like partying anymore. I sigh. “Look, I know you were excited for this, but can we go back home? I’m… not feeling too hot right now.”

“Yeah, I was gonna suggest that. Get in the car.”

I go over, standing by the driver side door—

“Wait, you’re not driving in this state!”

I had already opened the door when I heard him speaking. Slowly, I turn to him, narrowing my eyes. “…didn’t you do LSD in there?” Still, I hand him my keys.

He falls silent. “It never hit me. It’s been a few hours so maybe I just have a tolerance now. I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have done it.” Brett was incredibly apologetic over what had happened to me. I couldn’t help finding it cute, even though at that moment I probably should have been worrying about my state.

I slowly go over to the passenger side door, hopping in. The seats beat the sensation of pavement against my face, and once the car gets running, the heating will kick in. Brett jumps into the car next, closing the door and making sure it’s closed. He starts checking all the mirrors to ensure he can drive – he got his license not too long ago, so he isn’t used to this sort of thing – and…

I realize something has to be wrong. My body feels too heavy, like it’s been beat up, but Brett says he just saw me laying on the ground, passed out, and nothing had happened to me. My throat is dry but I feel dry spit on my lips, like I’ve been kissing someone… and it feels like I have open wounds on my shoulder and other places of my body. When my hand travels to my shoulder to check, the area feels tender, like a healing wound, but there’s no blood. It’s… in the rough shape and size of my own teeth, as well. I don’t want to say anything – and I can’t tell because his skin is literally red – but I swear I see blood on Brett’s lips as well.

“Brett…”

Something pushes me to act.

He turns to me. “Yeah? Something happened?”

My right hand gently cups his chin and I run a thumb over his lips. Though it feels smooth – expected, considering I’m touching a salamander – I feel no residue on my hands, like blood or anything like that.

I draw forward, softly pressing my lips against his own, and he doesn’t resist. I don’t feel him push into the kiss, however. Maybe I’m imagining things, but I feel a sliver of tongue against me.

Once I break the kiss, he’s just looking at me with concern in his eyes. “Please put on your seatbelt and try to get some sleep.”

I’m almost tempted to let my hands travel down to check if the kiss had done anything to his groin, but I do as instructed, and lean back, closing my eyes. It’s been a long night, and maybe I still have something in my body.

Wait, why had I touched his face again? I can’t remember. It was something important, right?

I drift off to sleep…

* * *

It’s been a year since the last time I left for a nightclub with Brett. We’re still friends, thankfully, and it looks like nothing bad happened to either of us, but after the experience it seems he doesn’t want to really take me to a nightclub again. I can’t say I’m terribly sad about the fact. I never liked those places anyways.

A business trip takes me to the same town we were in that night, en route to Gran Sudbury. A business trip of sorts, I suppose. Out of curiosity, I decide to drive to the same street I remember the nightclub was located in, to see how it’s doing…

When I arrive, I see all the signs have been torn down and the façade has been covered in CONDEMNED signs. Huh. That’s odd, it seemed to be doing pretty well last time I visited. Maybe something happened? Maybe this is why Brett hasn’t offered to go to the same place.

I don’t pay it much mind and drive off. I need to meet someone at a specified time and can’t be late.


	2. Chapter 2

2016.

The idle clicking of game controller buttons along with the sound effects from the TV fills the room. Two men – one a white lion, the other a brown bear – sitting in front of the TV in the bear’s room, playing fighting games. I can’t say I’m sitting so much as I’m splayed out, because you can’t really _sit_ very much on a bean bag. I guess it’s comfortable, but I’ve never been fond of resting all my weight on something so shapeless. Tyler must like it, because he’s had it around for a while. Probably much more his vibe.

With one last, decisive blow, his character beats mine. I just sigh, rubbing my face. “I’m really out of it, huh.” I got so focused on the game that a lock of hair – dyed black – fell on my face, so I brush it away.

“Hey, it happens.” Tyler used to be celebrating his victories, but he stopped a few rounds ago. Maybe he realized he was winning too often and it stopped being fun for him. I can’t help feeling there’s a tinge of concern in his voice, and it annoys me a bit.

“I’m sorry. I’m very out of practice. I haven’t picked up a controller in a bit.” I just drop the controller on my lap and lean back, eyes closed and hands behind my head, interlocking with my mane. I can feel the bottom of my tank top riding up my torso, but I can’t be assed to pull it back down in this position. I doubt Tyler will mind seeing a bit of lion abs either way.

“I don’t want to be rude, but… you really are, Joshua.” He’s definitely worried about it. “Have you not been playing lately? You used to be really good at this game a couple of years ago. Didn’t you even go to some tournament or another? I guess even someone like you would eventually lose interest in these sorts of things…”

Losing interest is certainly a way of putting it. I bite my tongue to not reply the first thing that comes to mind.

“I guess I did. I just haven’t turned on my own console or played in a bit. Busy with work. No biggie.” I scratch my beard and look at the tally of wins… he’s beat me twice as often as I’ve beat him. That wouldn’t have happened a few years ago. He’s right.

“If you say so…” I still feel he’s uneasy about it, but he doesn’t push the topic further, thank God.

My cursor hovers over the Character Select option on the menu for a few seconds before I get an idea. “Curious, though. We haven’t really talked about any not-video game stuff in a bit.” I shift my weight around a bit. “Work’s the same as ever, right?”

I don’t turn to look at him but I can hear him scratching something – probably the back of his head. “Yeah. I just write articles for gaming sites, they approve them, I get paid.”

“Living the dream.” He doesn’t seem very interested in talking about that.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You sure sound like you’re living the dream, at least.” I can’t tell how he reacts to the quip. Probably embarrassed blushing. That’s the Tyler I know. Since he doesn’t reply, I try bringing up something else. “You mentioned something in the groupchat the other day that I’ve been thinking about a bit.”

He sighs, already knowing what I’m going to mention.

It takes me aback a bit. “Wow, that bad? I thought it was just a date. I was going to ask how things are going with that girl you’ve been talking to… Casey, I think she was called?”

“No… well…” It’s like he’s struggling to find words to describe what happened. “Well, you know how… I am? In general?”

“Rough idea, yes. I’ve just been your friend for several years so I’m not fully sure.” I push my glasses up.

“Yeah, the—the date went like that, basically.” I can basically feel him grimacing and wonder if the quip flew over his head or if it registered in the first place. “Like… I struggle so much to find things to talk about, so there were lots of points where I was just sitting there, looking down at my food, and she was just looking at me, and I could _feel_ how she wanted me to say something, but it just… nothing came…”

That does sound pretty bad. “But she stayed there, right? She didn’t just get up and leave – she just kept looking at you.”

“Well, yeah? I mean, every now and then she grabbed her phone and looked at some stuff on it, texting people, but she just stayed there…”

“Sounds like she’s head over heels for you, then. If a guy wasn’t talking to me in a date, I would just get up and leave. It’s probably a good sign.” I was trying to salvage it as much as I could, but it _did_ sound bad from how he described it.

“I… I don’t know, Josh. I can’t shake the feeling that she’s just… dating me out of pity.”

I close my eyes and try not to grimace in a way he can notice. That’s really heavy. “You shouldn’t say those things about yourself.”

I feel his weight shift around in the bed. “I mean, that, or she just has a fetish for big guys. I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

I almost chuckle at that comment, but contain myself. “Maybe she does and it’s a plus in her eyes! You’re really not that bad, Ty.”

He sighs again. “It just went really badly for me. But she wants to meet up again this weekend…”

“See? It wasn’t that bad for her. You’re worrying too much.”

He falls silent for a few seconds, maybe mulling over what he’s going to say next. “Maybe. Let’s just play another round. It’s getting late and I want you to beat me again.”

I chuckle. “Kinky.” I hit the Character Select option, we choose our characters, and start fighting again. He’s… moving a lot less this time around, and hardly doing combos. I’m about to ask him if he’s deliberately going easy on me to let me win… when he pauses the game. “Huh?”

“Josh…” He stays quiet for a few moments.

“Yeah?”

“Would you date me?”

Now there’s an interesting question to pose. I turn to face him. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, twiddling his thumbs and looking down at them. The blue t-shirt he’s wearing hardly fits him anymore, and his soft, brown belly spills over his thighs underneath, covered just by grey sweatpants. He certainly looks like someone that spends a lot of time indoors playing video games – the unruly fur on his head, not brushed all day, contributes to the appearance. His blue eyes stand in stark contrast to the color of his fur. Even though I don’t say it out loud, I _would_ date him. He’s gentle, pretty cute, and the only way I can find to describe him is that he’s a big teddy bear.

I don’t know if it’s speciesist to say that.

Something stops me from just saying that out loud, though. “If you’re coming onto me and coming out of the closet at the same time, you’ll have to be more direct than that, Ty. Try again.” I narrow my yellow eyes at him, seeing if this might help to get him a bit out of his shell and to be honest with his feelings. I’m no therapist, but I’ve seen several of those in my time, so maybe this will help.

He flinches and his eyes go wide, obviously taken aback by the question. His mouth hanging open, he scrambles, scratching the back of his head with his claws and looking off to the side, trying to avoid my gaze and obviously blushing. “I-I mean… I just…”

“I thought you were straight.” I smirk.

“…” He closes his eyes. “ _Maybe?_ Oh… Oh—oh God, I said it…”

My grin only grows further. “That’s cute. Congrats.”

It’s like he’s trying to shrink in on himself when I call him cute – with little to no success, considering his size. He’s one of the few people I’ve met taller than I am, and he’s pretty wide. He lets out an uneasy sigh. “S-stop bullying me…”

That only makes me want to bully him harder. I leave the controller on the ground and get on the bed with him, sitting only a foot away from him. “So, why did you just ask me that?”

He sighs, looking at me. “I just… I don’t know if I’m really interested in Casey like that. Or maybe I am, and I just lock up whenever I have to actually talk to her, because she’s just so pretty and I feel she’s dating me out of pity and…” He sighs into his palms. “Guys are just so much more approachable, you know?”

“I do know a thing or two about approaching men, yes.”

“And knowing there’s two gay guys in our little group and they seem to be so happy I just… can’t help but _wonder_ , you know?” His big blue eyes look directly into mine.

 _Happy_ is a stretch.

“And this is why you want to know if I’d date you?”

“I—I guess. I just… I wanna know if a guy would even be interested in someone like me. If there’s…” He vaguely gestures to himself. “If there’s anything here that a guy could be interested in, and… and if a guy would be interested in pursuing me.” There’s almost a pleading tone to his voice, and I have to resist the urge to hug him. He’s so precious.

I give him a once over, looking at him top to bottom, and he seems to shrink a bit when I do that. Not everyone is used to being looked at like a piece of meat, I guess. “Well…”

A crashing sound takes us out of the moment, coming from somewhere in the house. The look of hesitant shyness on Tyler’s face is replaced with complete alert – eyes wide, staring straight ahead. A shutdown. What happens each time he’s faced with tension – he just freezes up completely. I can understand why.

We’re supposed to be alone in the house. Nobody else lives with him, nobody else was in the house when I came in, and the sound was too loud to simply be the wood creaking due to the moon.

I look around, trying to hear something else, craning my ears around – glad that I’m a lion, because we have good hearing. I can hear some shuffling around the house, but no loud crashes like the last one. One look at Tyler is all it takes for me to realize he is going to be doing absolutely nothing for a bit. I put a hand on his shoulder. “…stay here. Lock the door. I’ll be right back.”

As I get up, he grabs onto my wrist. “W-wait! What are you gonna do?”

“I’m going to check out what made that noise. I’ll be okay. Six years of gym mean I’ll be alright, yeah?” I try to offer him a gentle smile as he lets go. I push the lock on the door and walk out, closing it behind me. As I move around, trying to tiptoe (made difficult by how heavy I am), I notice the shuffling sounds don’t make sense. It’s like _something_ is moving through the house, skittering about, but I cannot tell on how many feet it’s moving, and the gait is erratic. Usually I’m good at telling what the species of an animal is by the weight and sound of their footsteps – predator things, perhaps – but I do not know a single thing about this invader besides the fact that it’s inside the house. I can’t even say conclusively that it’s an animal or anything I know, because the sound is weird, it’s moving on four or more limbs, and it’s also making huge circles around me.

I need something to defend myself.

It doesn’t take me long to reach my first destination – a storage closet where I know Tyler keeps a toolbox. He doesn’t do much with the tools, since he’s never been one for construction or making things with his hands, but he still keeps some tools on him, mainly upon my insistence. I dig around it for a bit… and fish out a crowbar. Solid, with a nice amount of weight to it. I may not have any kind of combat training, but I’m sure I’d be able to swing this thing around pretty hard if I have to.

Almost in response, the skittering sound slows down and slowly starts going down. Even though Tyler’s house is pretty small and only has one floor, it still has a basement, which is the usual for houses in our town. Surely, whatever broke in went down.

Though I follow the source of the sound (and feel it going further down into the basement), something about the whole situation feels odd. Someone breaking in and realizing they’re being searched would try to get _out_ of the house, not go deeper in it, right?

The moment I put a step on the staircase leading down, a chill runs down my spine. The more I descend, the heavier the atmosphere feels, like I’m physically under a massive amount of pressure – like a body of water – and it’s trying to force the air out of my lungs. I can’t explain it. I’ve never been one to get scared easily, so I can only doubt that this is a consequence of me being terrified or something like that. Something else is going on here.

I reach the bottom of the stairs and look at the closed door in front of me. One last thing to open before being face to face with the basement. Though my hearing tells me that whatever it is that is in the house is here, I don’t need to rely on my sense of hearing to know that. Somehow, instinctively, I can tell that it is here – like a sixth sense I only developed right then and there, on that moment, and lets me feel the oppressive presence I feel is coming from behind the door.

I open the door to complete darkness. I fish my phone out of my pocket and turn on the flashlight on it, scanning the room. Mostly bare – a few things strewn about, decorations and things in plastic bins.

Then, I spot the source of the noise, and freeze. A bizarre, white image against the darkness, hunched over, with its back turned to me, chewing at something on the ground.

And, then, I remember what happened a few months ago, when I went to that nightclub with Brett. Once the next day came and I asked him what happened, he had no idea what I was talking about or what I described. He didn’t remember making out with me or dancing on me (though I could tell he was lying, or maybe I was seeing things), and he certainly didn’t remember turning into some grey monster that bit me and tore at my flesh. From what he described, he just saw me passed out on the floor, dragged me out of the party, and then we went home. I could only chalk up what happened that day to a bad trip caused by whatever it was that they put in my drink (if something was put in my drink at all). Just a hallucination.

I don’t think I can explain what I am seeing right now, though. There is nothing in my body besides pizza and iced tea, and I am certain what I am seeing is real.

Whatever it is that I’m looking at turns its head to look at me, and I am greeted with absolutely nothing. A completely featureless head – no eyes, no nose, no mouth, no ears… nothing. The figure skitters towards me on four legs, slowly crawling through the ground, but I swear sometimes I count one or two additional appendages coming out of its slim torso. It is way too long – way too tall – to be an animal, and its body is completely furless. It reflects so much of the light from my flashlight that it’s starting to hurt my already sensitive eyes. It feels like I can’t see anything else in the basement.

Now in front of me, it slowly stands up on its hind legs, its front legs hanging limply yet up at the ready, like a mantis’ arms. Those are hands. It towers over me. I can’t move. My muscles aren’t responding. It has me transfixed. It cranes its head down to look at my face. Even though there’s no features – no eyes – I can feel it staring right into me. Its gaze burns. It puts thoughts in my head. Sounds. Screaming. Crying. Suffering.

**CLOSE THE DOOR**

Another voice floods my thoughts. Moving on its own, my hand shoots for the door and closes it, locking it – and also locking whatever that thing was. I can’t identify the source of the voice – it’s just in my head, and it doesn’t sound like anyone I know. As the lock clicks, the oppressive presence is gone, and I can tell whatever that thing was must have disappeared as well. I don’t make sense of the feeling – I can just tell that it’s gone, somehow. I realize how hard I’m gripping my phone – I turn off the flashlight and put it back in my pocket. Every hair on the back of my neck is standing on end.

“Josh…”

The voice catches me by surprise and I drop the crowbar on the floor, it making a loud clattering sound against the cement. It misses my bare, socked foot by a few inches, and I’m grateful it doesn’t hit me. A few inches and a few steps behind me, illuminated by light coming from the house, Tyler stands at the steps, flinching at the sound. He’s looking down at the ground. “…I told you to stay locked in the room.” The first words that come to mind stumble out of my lips, through a hoarse throat.

Tyler shuffles awkwardly, and I feel bad. “I… went and checked all the windows and the door. Nothing could have broken into the house. It’s all locked and nothing looks like it’s been, like… tampered with…”

“…I see.”

Did he not hear the shuffling? Did he not see the thing standing in front of me? Wait, how long has he been there in the first place? Am I the only person seeing these things?

Tyler stifles a yawn. “I… don’t hear anything now. Maybe it was just a stray animal. I don’t know.”

Seeing him yawn makes me realize how tired I myself am. It was already late, but the exertion of going around the house and seeing whatever the fuck that was seems to have exhausted me further. I bend over to grab the crowbar, and Tyler’s eyes widen for a split second as he realizes what it was that I dropped, but he doesn’t ask any questions. I go up the steps, and he goes up them as well. As I go to put the crowbar away, he returns to the room. I quickly brush my teeth – I was going to stay over for the night anyways so I brought my toothbrush – and turn off the lights that he’d turned on. My sleeping bag is already in his room, so I just make a beeline for it.

He’s sitting on the bed, twiddling his thumbs again and looking down. Somehow, he looks lonely. He closes his eyes when I enter the room. “Hey, Josh?”

“Yeah?”

He pauses. “Can you sleep in my bed with me?”

I’m not sure how to respond to that. “…” Maybe it’s not what it seems. Maybe the guy is just scared shitless and wants something to hold onto for the night. If I was more sensitive to this sort of thing, I’d probably be pretty rattled as well. Wordlessly, I walk over. He steps off as I pull the covers back, noticing that the TV and the game console are already off, surely switched off by him before he went looking around the house to check the windows. I take my glasses off and leave them on the nightstand, take my socks off, and step into the bed—

“I… I know that you usually sleep in your underwear, so if you want to get down to it, I won’t mind…”

If it wasn’t because of how insecure and tired he sounds, I’d have concluded that he was trying to fuck me. But maybe he actually seriously just wants to make me feel comfortable. I throw my tank top off (and catch him peeking at my body) and shortly follow suit with my jeans (also catching him peeking down before averting his gaze), revealing black boxer briefs. “…you know, if I knew I was going to be stripping for a cute guy, I’d probably have worn cuter underwear.”

My attempt to lighten the mood just gets him blushing intensely and looking away. Chuckling, I climb into the bed, looking at him expectantly. Hastily, he pulls his shirt off, followed by his sweatpants, tossing them in the vague direction of my own discarded clothing, revealing white briefs hiding his shame, somewhat sinking into his skin due to his fat. It isn’t until then that I take a long, hard look at him, and realize how soft, fluffy and cuddly he looks. Of course, his embarrassed attitude helps a lot.

“I didn’t know you slept in your underwear.”

“I-I don’t… I just felt it’d be fair if you’re also sleeping in yours…”

I snort, patting the side of the bed next to me. “C’mon, you’re gonna catch a cold out there. It’s still winter.”

Hesitantly, he climbs into bed, and I flick the lights off. Even though we’re in the same, one-person bed, it’s like he’s doing his greatest effort to not touch me.

He’s really transparent, like an open book. It’s endearing. “Ty, you asked me to sleep with you for a reason. It’s fine if you want to touch.”

He slowly breathes out, and it’s like all air escapes his lungs at that moment. Slowly, he inches towards me, first wrapping his hands around my biceps, and then around my chest. He seems to like the feeling of my chest against his cheeks.

“It’s alright.”

“Mm…” I feel the vibrations of his gentle, soft voice against me. I bring a hand up behind his head and gently scratch, trying to lull him to sleep…

…and I cannot find sleep easily myself, still thinking about what I saw. I wonder if it was because of how tired I was, and if I was just seeing things… but it felt too real. Whatever it is that I found down there it’s gone – I can’t sense it anymore. Still, I remain vigilant, for a few moments, until I feel Tyler’s gentle snoring against me.

Maybe I should let go as well.

I drift off soon after…


	3. Chapter 3

2016.

The idle din of weights being lifted, hoisted upwards, then left on the ground fills the air. A strange, very unique sound, that is only familiar if you’re used to it. I can’t say it makes me feel like home… because it’s literally in my home. In the basement, I have a home gym set up, with several weights, a weight machine, a treadmill, and some other assorted equipment. It was a bit of an investment but in the long run it’s paid back – in total, considering when I arrived to Canada, I’ve spent less on the equipment than what I would have spent if I’d actually paid a gym membership in the same time.

Why do I frame things mentally in such ways?

Weights drop against the ground harshly and I’m glad that I bought those rubber floor mats for this room of the house. Though, given that it’s the basement, it’s not like a lot of damage could be done to the concrete floor. My ears twitch at the sound and instinctively turn towards its source, while my gaze follows shortly after. There, the source of the sound – a fox, rather short – looks at the ground, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Of course, I’m not the one working out, but it doesn’t hurt to be present anyways.

Michael looks up at me, the red fox’s hazel eyes squinting to grasp my form. Out of breath, he speaks. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Just looking at him and how thoroughly soaked in sweat his red t-shirt and blue shorts are makes me feel tired, even if I don’t have to work out today. The shirt is sticking so much to his body that I can make out every single carefully built muscle underneath. Same goes for the shorts – which I swear are shorter than normal – that leave nothing to the imagination on the back… or the front.

I bet it was a deliberate choice. The bastard. He’s gay, and I’m gay, and we’re the only gay guys in our little friend group, so we have a bit of awkward sexual tension – though I wonder how much you can call it _tension_ , since we’ve actually fucked before. This doesn’t stop him from teasing me at every chance he gets, and sometimes, it works.

Not this time though. “Are you sure you should keep lifting? You’ve been going at it for a while, and you look tired.”

“You’re not my mom, Josh.”

“Hasn’t stopped you from calling me _daddy_ before.” Nonchalantly, I flip through some music files on my phone. “Or, what was it that you called me the other time? Abusing the fact that I’m Latino? _Papi,_ was it?”

He’s already groaning by the time I finish the sentence, and I can’t help letting a smirk creep up the corners of my lips. “Oh, fuck off, dude. You loved it.”

I chuckle. “Not the point.” I turn my eyes to look at him, eyebrows raised and still with that shit eating grin on my face. “Judging by your outfit, I’d say that you wanted to call me that again today, and that hasn’t really worked out much for you.” I look down, at the puddle of sweat forming beneath his feet, next to his sneakers.

“Wh—shut up, I just wore the comfiest thing I had.”

“Which is why your shorts are several inches shorter than they usually are when you come here to work out, of course.”

“You’ve been checking them out? Creep. Though I guess a slut like you would know about such things.” This time, it’s he that smirks.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. That stings a little.

Michael began coming to my house about a couple of years back when he found out I had a full home gym, so he didn’t have to pay for a gym membership of his own. I don’t know what got into him to force him to work out like this – he was a slim, short, cute red fox with a sort of boyish charm, and as far as I knew that worked wonderfully for him whenever he opened dating apps – but he exercises like a man possessed, fully blasting his muscles with weight to grow as much as possible. Maybe he’s trying to grow to the sides since he didn’t grow vertically. What’s more, he stopped combing his red headfur to a side and opted for a more natural, bad boy-ish look, and was even growing out a beard. He’d definitely be what every basic gay calls “daddy material”, if it wasn’t because of how short he is and how boyish he looks even growing out his beard. Maybe when it’s full the effect will go away.

I’d say he’s trying to look like me if he had any reason to look up to me.

While I wasn’t looking, he put on a weighted vest and strapped it to his body’s frame perfectly. He stands below the pull-up bar I have in the basement, leaps up to grab it, and starts doing chin-ups. I have to say, since he’s only been working out for a couple of years, being able to do all that with perfect form and additional weight is very impressive. He’s putting on weight and lifting heavier weights very often… more often than me, actually. Maybe in a few years, he’ll lift more weight than I do. It’s going to be weird, since he’s about two thirds of my height and a bit younger than me, but what can you do. I don’t really have the energy or desire to try and keep up with his ridiculous pace

Standing up from the bench I was sitting on, I cross my arms, looking at him. I don’t have anything to correct in his form – I was his personal trainer for a grand total of _a month_ before he looked up weightlifting resources on his own and began crafting his own routines, diet and habits. A bit scary. “You don’t need anything, right?”

No response. He finishes his set – ten to twelve reps, I lost count – and drops to the ground, massaging his sides with his hands. “Nope. Got water here and I’m almost done.”

“Alright.” I nod, pushing my glasses up. “I’ll go to the kitchen and make you a protein shake, then. I’ve got the powder you use here.”

“Thanks. Make me a sandwich while you’re at it, woman.” A smirk. Cheeky asshole.

“Sorry for offering to help.” With a lazy arch of my eyebrows, I turn around to leave.

Since it’s a room in the basement, there is only really one exit. There’s a few windows on the upper corners of the room (that lead to the ground level outside), and the exit door leads to another room, which leads to a staircase going up and a few other things. It floods when it rains, so I keep the windows closed at all times, but the doors stay open so the place doesn’t grow a stench from any humidity. With the walls painted the way they are, you wouldn’t really know that this room is in the basement if you didn’t look at the weird distribution of windows.

I reach the door handle and pull back to open, seemingly having forgotten that I closed the door when I entered.

What greets me isn’t the other room. Instead of the usual brick of the walls and dim lighting from the row of windows above, there is absolutely nothing. Focusing my eyes, I notice that instead of _nothing_ there is a staircase leading downwards.

I stand there a couple of minutes, staring at the stairs leading down into darkness. Completely dumbfounded.

What?

Images flash in my mind – of that bar outing with Brett and that time I stayed over at Tyler’s house. Why am I remembering these things? They’re all weird events but there had to be _some_ event that caused those to happen. For the first one maybe I was roofied (though the tests done on me revealed no weird substances in my blood), for the second one maybe it was too late, I was sleepy and seeing things or just sleepwalked and dreamed what happened.

But now? It’s a couple of hours past noon and I’ve had nothing all day besides water and some food. Yet, the sight before me doesn’t disappear no matter how hard I blink.

I turn to look at Michael, who is still giving it his all with his exercise. “Mike?”

Again, no response while he finishes his reps. No response after he finishes, either, like he didn’t hear me at all.

“Michael?” The room isn’t big enough that he could just not hear me while standing there – he isn’t even listening to music or anything.

He sits down on the same bench I was sitting on and takes a couple of swigs of water. To get there he had to look in my general direction, but he didn’t see me at all. Hell, he’d have seen me on the wall mirrors installed on the opposite wall anyways. Yet, it’s like my presence in the room doesn’t matter to him. He’s become a bit of an asshole recently, but not even he would do something like this.

Then, after I blink, he’s gone – vanished into thin air, in the split second it took me to close my eyelids and open them up again.

I run over to where he was sitting and pat the still warm bench, but there’s absolutely nothing there. I look around, and he’s nowhere to be seen. What the fuck is going on? My heart is starting to race. Did I have a stroke? What is happening? I’m not imagining things, am I?

I deliberately avoid looking at my reflection as I walk back to the door, having the strange gut feeling that if I look long enough, something that isn’t me will look back. Like my legs aren’t my own, I walk down the steps, feeling the wood underneath creak under my weight. There are no wooden staircases in my house. At some point, the light pouring in from the basement fades out, like the door shut itself, but I hear no clicking, like it simply ceased to exist. I fish my phone out of my pocket and turn on the flashlight… trying not to fall over when I realize there are no walls or guardrails, like the stairs descend into absolute nothingness. I look down the sides and see absolutely nothing. I can’t tell how long the drop is from here and I’m not about to find out. I can’t even see where these stairs are built on – a structure like this needs strong foundations to stay up, but it’s like they’re built on thin air. No swaying either, only the slight creaking of the wood under my admittedly pretty high weight.

Without anywhere else to go, I press on, and the stairs slowly creak less and less. It’s a bit hard to tell what the material is through my boots, but it looks like stone. A smooth transition from wood to stone steps, as it were, though that shouldn’t be possible either… but considering the absurdity of the whole situation, I’m not inclined to question the material of the stairs. Stone walls close in on the sides, neatly framing the stairs, in such a way that my arms almost touch the walls. Somehow, I feel safer and cozier – only slightly, because I am still wondering what is going on.

The steps end and a few steps ahead is an exit, like I was walking in a cave. It leads out the side of a stone wall, maybe built on a mountain. I notice the wooden beams holding the exit open – the unmistakable entrance to a mine. Focusing my sight on the only thing I can see, I spot a few yellow electrical lights on what looks like a settlement… in the middle of a jungle.

I suddenly realize it’s very hot.

**Like home.**

I haven’t felt myself sweating like this in a few years, but my body still remembers the sensation and can endure it, like it comes to me naturally. The Canadian cold can’t make me forget this tropical warmth. It feels far too familiar, somehow, like I walked down some steps and was magically transported back to my country of origin – almost feels like I’ll turn around and see the house I grew up in. I press on, entering the settlement, noticing it to be completely empty, barring the few lampposts lighting the place up. A few rudimentary recliners, made of metallic beams and plastic threading woven into the shape of a chair, like the ones all the old people in my hometown owned, are out, swaying slightly in the night breeze.

I hate having the realization because the situation is plenty weird as it is, but something odd is going on here. The streets of normal towns don’t go completely empty at night like this, and this isn’t built like a town at all. There’s rows of identical houses ahead of me, lining the sides of my vision, with identical doors, attached to each other. Each house is absolutely minuscule, easily only holding one or two rooms. There’s little to nothing in the way of decoration – just the slanted rooftops for when it rains, some dirty white painting covering the walls, and plain wooden doors, and that’s it. Bizarrely, there’s a lightbulb above each door, and, though none are lit, I can tell they’re all different colors, be it because the bulb itself was originally a different color, or because it was painted like that after it was obtained. I spot some white lightbulbs, some green ones, some blue ones, some red ones, and even one purple one, all turned off.

A white lightbulb on the far end of the “settlement” switches on, making a low electric hum that I can somehow hear through the noises of the night in the jungle. For whatever reason, I know that I have to approach it. I walk towards it, noting that all the curtains on all the other houses are closed, all the lights inside seem to be off, and no sounds leave any of the buildings. It truly feels like, for some reason, I’m all alone.

Standing before the door, I can tell that it isn’t locked, but no lights inside seem to be on.

**Is your blood too tainted?**

Gingerly, I push the door open, and it swings to a side without making any noise. It leads into darkness and there’s no light switches on the walls, but with what little light pours in, I can tell that the door leads to a long hallway – far too long to fit in the narrow, small house that the door is attached to.

I step in regardless. The light behind me vanishes, but I feel no urges to turn the flashlight of my phone on again. The temperature drops, to something I’m more used to, but then it keeps dropping further – like the cold wind fronts that sometimes come in from the nearby lake. I silently thank my temperature resistance.

**Will you be absorbed by the maws of nothingness?**

I can feel a voice ringing in my head but cannot pinpoint the source, nor can I identify it. It feels like everything speaking to me, and nothing at the same time. I’ve never felt anything like this – like it’s an all-enveloping feeling, trying to overpower me. Yet, I don’t dare speak up, for fear of provoking or angering its source.

I start being able to see again, as a dim blue light illuminates me. Wavy and unstable, like the shimmering light at the bottom of a body of water, like a lake, coming from the ceiling. Rusted through railing frames something in the center of the room. I can make out some signs talking about whatever it is that is in the middle, betraying the fact that this may have been a tourist destination at some point in the past – I can even make out the seal of the Government of Ontario on them – but they’re all completely scratched up, and some have strange symbols that I don’t recognize on them, but staring at them for too long makes my eyes hurt. I realize what I saw on the signs wasn’t the seal of the government of my province. The general shape is that of the seal, but it’s slightly different, and the name near it is different. Different, and completely illegible. I can’t even figure out how to begin reading such a thing, and thinking about it makes my head throb.

All the signs around are pointing at whatever it is that is in the middle of the room, and whatever it is, it is lit by the most light here, like it’s deliberately illuminated. I approach.

A growth of rock, protruding from the ground, with crystal shards embedded into it. Somehow, I can tell that there’s more of this crystal underneath – like the formation is more crystal than rock.

I step over the rusted railing and put my hand against it. I feel the cold rock against my paw pads, and can feel how far down it stretches and what it is.

Quartz.

And it is massive.

Bigger than me.

Bigger than all of us.

**God sleeps beneath the waves.**

…

“Hey.”

I stagger backwards, landing flat on my ass against the ground. God bless my cat reflexes for swaying my tail out of the way and keeping me from landing on it. I’m back in my home gym, in front of me is an open door leading to my basement, and standing above me is Michael, giving me a funny look. I blink a couple of times… yes, this is happening.

“Hey, are you okay? You were just standing there, staring at nothing. No matter how much I poked you, you didn’t react or anything.”

How do I explain what just happened to him? “I… guess I was just daydreaming.” That’s as smooth as it’s going to get on such short notice. “Sorry. What was I doing?”

“You were going to the kitchen to make me a protein shake and a sandwich.”

I get up, dusting my clothes. “I can’t remember the sandwich part, you little shit.”

“Yeah, you agreed to it, dude.” I finally take in his features – from the towel over his shoulders and his stable breathing, I can only assume he finished working out and stretching himself.

“Ugh, fuck it, whatever, I’ll make you a sandwich.”

He snorts. “That’s more like it.” He stretches lazily, and looking around, everything is just the way I left it – Michael even re-racked my weights and all.

While I wasn’t looking, Michael started going up the stairs – for a split second I worry that he disappeared again. Awfully nimble, that man. “You coming or you wanna stare at your reflection a bit more?”

“Uh…” Dumbfounded, I blink a couple of times, closing the door behind me. “No, no, let’s go.” I start to go up the stairs, but he isn’t moving.

“Hey, actually.”

“Huh?”

“You mind if I use your shower? I gave 110% today and I feel it in my clothes.”

“I feel it in my nose.”

“You can feel it closer when we get there. I could use some help reaching some of the hard to scrub spots, you know?”

From the swaying of his hips and fluffy tail, and how the back of his shorts is a bit further down than where it should be, I can tell exactly what he’s getting at. Way to get me out of my thoughts. I may be a simple man, but the sight and proposal makes something in my groin stir. I smirk, walking up beside him and slapping his ass… then letting my hand linger. Firm and taut. He doesn’t skip leg day at all. “Maybe I will.” I give him a squeeze.

…

I spend a _long_ time in the shower with him. I almost completely forget what happened, and what I saw, but it comes back to me later in the day. Yet, I don’t have any answers for what it could have been.


	4. 0

2017.

Turn of the new year, a month after that visit Michael paid me that resulted in sex and what I can only assume was delirium. After that happened, I checked into a hospital in Gran Sudbury and had some tests taken to see if anything could explain the incredibly vivid hallucinations I’d had – maybe I had a stroke, maybe I had a concussion I wasn’t aware of, maybe I had eaten something I shouldn’t have – but everything returned normal.

Lying in bed, at midnight, right now, it gnaws away at me. With the bedsheets up to my chest and moonlight gently pouring in through the cracks between the blinds, nothing is out of the usual right now. I clocked out about an hour ago and have just been lying here since, staring at the roof, unable to go to sleep.

In truth, it’s not just a problem that began today. Ever since that happened, I’ve been having regular nightmares where I’m taken to that place I saw, though I don’t recognize it, and touch that massive rock protruding from the ground again. I can’t explain it. I don’t know what that is, where it’s located, or how to reach it.

I also don’t know why it’s so familiar.

I turn to the side and clench my eyes shut, but they force themselves open after a few seconds – I don’t really want to sleep.

Why don’t I want to sleep? I’ve been awake since five o’clock in the morning and haven’t gone to sleep since. I didn’t set an alarm, and I didn’t have to do anything – it’s a Sunday – so why did my body get me up and then keep me up like that? Why is sleep abandoning me? Since that day, I’ve slept less and less – not because I don’t want to sleep, but because my body physically refuses to stay asleep. Yet, no matter how many tests I take and what I do, there’s no explanation behind it all.

I turn to the other side, nearly tossing a blanket off the bed, facing the wall directly now.

It’s not just the dreams. Sometimes, when I open doors, I’m greeted by the sight of those places as well – or sometimes places I’ve never been to. Other people’s houses, some caves, the jungle. What looks like a dungeon, with the walls lined with cells and torture instruments, though it’s distinctly modern – like it could be built inside a building in the city. What look like temples, in dark hallways, in what might be caves.

That damn rock. All the quartz inside it, that I can somehow feel.

My eyelids feel heavy and my eyes burn. I don’t think I could fall asleep even if I tried, though. I turn once more.

What _was_ that rock? Every time I find myself in that place, in dreams or in my thoughts, I’m drawn to it. I know it’s something very bad but I can’t stop my footsteps – I step over railings and signs and I press my hand to it… and the dreams always end there. It’s an inanimate object. It has absolutely nothing inside besides… quartz. An ungodly amount of the stuff. It flows into the soil in thick veins, going underground god knows how many… kilometers. That shouldn’t be possible, right? Any place on the surface of the earth can’t stretch down that many miles. The crust is the thinnest layer of the planet, and it ends after… less than that.

Right?

I turn once more, pressing my face down into my pillow. My mane digs into my mouth. I don’t bother digging it out. My body is tired, but it refuses to go to sleep.

Quartz is an inanimate mineral found in natural formations in the earth, in caves. It can be mined out and has a variety of uses. I just instinctively know that what I see is not natural. I don’t know what it is, but natural is not a word I’d use to describe it. I don’t know why I know so much about it either – this place that I’m not even sure exists or not. It’s not natural, but… it’s also older than anything I can think of. It feels like it hasn’t been touched in ages – longer than any person I know, or their ancestors.

I can’t explain why, but I feel it is evil. Or, at least, that there’s something incredibly wrong with it.

I close my eyes, and there it is – a mount of rock, crystal protruding through some parts of it in sharpened, jagged edges, bathed in the distorted blue light of the bottom of some body of water. The only one nearby is a lake – we have many of those in this country – but there’s nothing at the bottom. Just soil, some algae, some fish. Certainly nothing that looks like that place.

I open my eyes, and they burn once more. I turn until I’m facing up in the bed.

**You put off the inevitable.**

I clench my eyes shut. The voices are the worst part of it all. Since that day, they began, and they have not shut up. I can’t tell how many they are, or if it’s more than just one thing at the same time in the first place. It’s just… an inscrutable source of sound, that sounds like _something’s_ voice, that speaks to me, and nobody else seems to hear it. Hallucinations that are strangely consistent, and… very persistent. Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep – this voice does not leave me alone.

Whatever it is, it wants me to make a choice about something. It insists, but I don’t really understand exactly what is being asked of me… though it has to do with my friends. Brett, Tyler and Michael. For some reason it’s telling me to latch onto them – only one of them, however. It instructs me to spend my every waking moment with that person, and to help, almost. Is this my biological clock ticking? Is it just asking me to date and marry someone? Wouldn’t the only option be Michael, then, since he’s the only gay one? Brett is straight, and I don’t know what Tyler has going on. At any rate, I’m not interested in him – in any of them like that, actually. I just want to keep them as friends… for all of us to remain that way.

All… three of them. Not them. Why just them?

**Make a choice.**

It returns, and my eyelids get heavy. I feel like I’m passing out, but I don’t think I like the feeling. What is this?

**Make a choice.**

Why am I being told to make a choice? Why now? Why do I have to choose? Why do I have to do anything at all?

**Make a choice.**

For a split second, pain shoots through my head, like my body itself is collaborating with the voice. But I don’t want to do it.

**Make a choice or be consumed by darkness.**

…

**Do not face the void.**

But…

I don’t want to choose. I don’t want to make a choice amongst any of my friends. I don’t want to close my doors like that. I’m afraid of what might happen if I have to make a choice and it ends up being the wrong one. I don’t want that weight. I don’t want any weight. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want anything.

_I don’t want to._

**…**

A loud crash, like shattering glass, jolts the young lion into an upright position. He gasps, looking for the source of the noise, not realizing that it’s nowhere. His black mane is a mess from all the tossing and turning he’s done, but he doesn’t realize this.

His vigil is interrupted by a flaring, pulsating headache. The pain is so intense it forces him to clasp the sides of his head, bent over himself in pain, with his eyes shut and taking labored breaths though his teeth, every muscle in his jaw clenched. It grows in intensity, and in a moment of clarity, he wonders if it has to do with the voices he has been hearing and the sights he has been seeing. His sweat makes his bedsheets cling to his bare fur, the boxer briefs he’s wearing sticking to him like a second layer of skin.

The pain doesn’t subside, but it takes a backseat in his mind as the contents of his stomach rise up his esophagus. He closes his lips just in time, but the fluid pools in his mouth regardless – a strong bitter flavor he can’t identify, but a substance that makes everything inside his mouth and throat burn. He tosses the covers off and takes a few hurried steps towards the bathroom before stumbling – the headache isn’t gone, and it’s as debilitating as ever. He has to keep moving, however. For a mercy, the bathroom is nearby – he basically crawls there, on all fours, pawing at the darkness looking for a light switch. Bless his feline night vision for letting him find it with ease.

Once inside the bathroom, he tosses the lid of the toilet up, and with a hand on each side of the seat, he opens his mouth—

A torrent of puke erupts from his throat, and he closes his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. It burns. It’s like his body is trying to empty itself, forcing all the contents of his stomach out. He had a light dinner – it was all he had the energy to eat – and that was surely outside his body by that point. Yet, his gag reflex continued, and more fluid kept leaving his body, the loud gagging and splattering filling the empty space. By that point surely all that was leaving him was spit and bile – if the contents of his intestines backed into his stomach and then left his body that way, that’d be really bad. The gagging makes every muscle in his torso tense up, and his abdomen hurts.

Then, as suddenly as it arrived, it stops. He takes a few, uneasy breaths, spit streaming down his lips and tears dropping from his eyes into the water. Something is wrong – there is no smell of vomit. He opens his eyes and focuses them on what just left his body…

A substance with the consistency of thick, black sludge sits at the top of the water. It’s very much like tar, but with some slight red undertones in color instead of the cool blue of actual tar. It seems to stick to itself – none is splattered on the sides of the toilet bowl, with all of it neatly connected on the bottom, on top of the water, a thick coating of _something_ that nearly doubles the volume of the toilet’s default contents. It’s a lot. More than the volume of a stomach, Joshua reckons. It has absolutely no smell, either – in fact, it’s like taking in a breath shuts down the sense of smell.

The lion stares at the mess for a few seconds, not breathing. He sharply takes in a breath, the nostrils on his pink nose button flaring out, as horror washes over him. Something is very wrong there. Something has to be very wrong with him. He starts hyperventilating, contemplating how he’s going to call emergency services – noticing that he no longer has a headache – because that’s surely not normal. Something must have happened to him…

All worries vanish from his head, and his sight completely unfocuses. A hand that isn’t his flushes the toilet, vanishing the evidence of what just happened away, before his vacant, mile-long stare. It all goes down the pipes without a hitch. He gets up – slowly, methodically – and doesn’t look at his reflection on the mirror. He opens the faucet and rinses his mouth, spitting out the last of what he just vomited, and cleaning his facial fur. He leaves the bathroom, flicks off the switch, and goes directly back to his bed. He climbs in, pulling the covers over his still shivering body, and finally, after a full three minutes since the last time he opened them, his eyes close. He falls asleep on the spot, and all the memories of what happened vanish from his head. All he’ll have the next morning to clue him in on the fact that something happened is the vague aftertaste of blood on his mouth – mixed with his morning breath – and some slight redness on the sink, but he won’t pay either any mind.

**He forgets because he is a coward. He is refused power because he refuses to take a choice. He is useless. He is purged of the ability to choose and cast into the pit, for the gnashing maws and sharpened claws of the void to rend his body asunder and consume him whole. He is but another entry point now.**

**No matter. Another, better, more empty vessel shall arrive within two years’ time, and the cycle will begin. Pleasure, cowardice, catharsis and melancholy will swirl into the nihil’s maw, and they will all be in the eye of the maelstrom, condemned to pain, death, choice, and repetition. The salamander shall suffer the pain of denial. The bear shall suffer the pain of solitude and loss of direction. The fox shall suffer the pain of revenge and torture. The lion shall bear all their burdens until his will shatters, and he shall be made to bear the heaviest cross.**

**The new man shall be none the wiser.**


End file.
